


You'll be Hitch, I'll be Alma

by anextrapart



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anextrapart/pseuds/anextrapart
Summary: Ongoing Ruth/Sam prompt fics





	1. 01

“Sam, you’re fine.”

“I am _not_ fine-”

“Here, just sit up-”

“Ow, Christ, don’t _touch_\- stop! Stop. I’m definitely dying, okay? I heard a crack. There was a distinct, obvious cracking sound. Multiple bones are shattered. Possibly my spine.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Maybe it’s- joints crack, right, that happens sometimes? Frequently, even. Maybe it means nothing-”

“It definitely means nothing.”

“-but I’m afraid to move.”

“So you just want to stay there?”

“Yes.”

“On the floor?”

“Yes.”

“…Want me to lie down there with you?”

“That would be nice considering you’re the one who’s just fucking murdered me.”

“You’re the one who wanted to try wrestling moves.”

“I didn’t mean- No, don’t hold my hand, I’m mad at you- I didn’t mean you should _suplex me_.”

“_Suplex?_ It was barely even a toss!”

“It was a suplex.”

“Please. We practiced harder moves in our first week. It’s not my fault you didn’t land where you were supposed to-”

“Not your- You are a _professional wrestler_-”

“-but next time we can aim for the bed instead of the couch.”

“We’re not doing this again.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“Not fucking _ever_.”

“I’m going to hold your hand now.”

“Try not to break that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt via @actuallylorelaigilmore: "maybe it means nothing, but i'm afraid to move"
> 
> askbox is still open for prompts should you be so inclined


	2. 02

If she’d known the trouble it would end up causing, Ruth would have never borrowed the damn thing in the first place. Only, hotel rooms are cold, and it’s nearly winter, and she was in a rush. Is it her fault that she and Sam had been working all day holed up in his room, poring over lines and cues and details for the show?

Okay, technically that was her fault. 

But it isn’t her fault that Sam had pulled off his sweater at some point—grumbling about “stuffiness inhibiting creative thought”—and flung it dramatically across the room. It isn’t her fault that she got the tiniest bit distracted at the sight of Sam’s arms in his freshly revealed t-shirt, which clearly impaired her judgement. And it _ certainly _ isn’t her fault that, when she mentioned being cold a short time later, Sam absently mumbled, “Grab something warmer if you want,” while scribbling thoughts into his increasingly incoherent notebook.

Long story short, she put on his freshly discarded sweater. It was warm, easily accessible, and it smelled nice. Or maybe not _ nice _, exactly—it just smelled like Sam, which is nice, in its way. Comforting. Laundry detergent, and whichever basic drugstore deodorant he wears. A hint of cigarette smoke, which she doesn’t like in principle but which has been inextricably connected to him by now. 

She’d rolled up the sleeves to her wrists and they’d gone back to work. And if Sam had stared a bit, eyes gone soft and noticeably longing, when he’d first noticed her wearing it, well. She’d been able to ignore that. She’s been ignoring a lot of those looks, these days. They didn’t hurt anyone, right?

The real trouble came when they’d realized the time and that they were late for a meeting with the rest of the show cast. Hastily grabbing notebooks and stacking sheets of paper, they collected everything they’d been working on and rushed out the door. 

Well, _ Ruth _ rushed out the door. Sam ambled out at a pace slightly faster than normal while she flapped her hands agitatedly in an attempt to get him to hurry the fuck up.

It wasn’t until they were halfway through the meeting that she realized how many odd looks she was getting.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that she finally realized it was because she was still wearing what was very recognizably Sam’s sweater. Deciding it would be more damning if she took it off right then, once everyone had noticed the sweater _ and _ noticed that she’d noticed them noticing, she balled her hands up in the sleeves and resolved to hightail it out as soon as the meeting had ended without speaking to anyone.

Debbie managed to corner her, naturally.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, voice squeaky in a way even she didn’t find convincing.

“Come on. You’re practically attached at the hip these days. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.”

“Sam doesn’t _ look _ at me-”

“He gets this dopey expression-” Debbie pulled a silly, wide-eyed face. “-and stops noticing everything around him. He tripped over a folding chair yesterday.” 

“You’re imagining things.” She had heard him trip over that chair, though she hadn’t seen it- she’d been busy stretching out before practice. 

“I’m not, and you’re very defensive right now. Do you actually like him?” she asked, not unkindly.

“No?”

“_Ruth. _”

“I- Maybe? Stop laughing-”

“Sorry, it's just, it’s _ Sam _, he’s so-”

“I know, okay? I know.” God, did she know. “But he’s also- it’s different, when it’s just us. He’s... more, somehow.”

“More.”

“Softer. Honest.” To the point where she couldn’t even believe it herself, sometimes. “He’s sweet, Deb.”

Debbie was quiet for a long minute before shrugging. “Yeah, I could see that.”

“What, seriously?”

“Sure. I’ve seen him be nice. It creeps me out, personally, but if it works for you then you should tell him.”

“What if it ruins everything?”

“What if it doesn’t?” Debbie counters, infuriatingly.

“We’ll kill each other.” They’ll definitely kill each other. It will be awful.

“You haven’t yet. Honestly, all the bullshit you two have gone through and you still like each other enough to get dopey over it? That isn’t nothing.”

“I don’t get dopey.”

“Tell that to your face when you’re talking about him.”

Which is how Ruth ended up here two hours later, in front of Sam’s hotel room and somehow still wearing his damn sweater.

When he answers her knock on the door he does that annoying thing where he just raises his brow at her, so she sighs and gestures to her too-long sleeves.

“I came to return your sweater.”

“And yet you’re still wearing it.”

I wanted to get it as dirty as possible before returning it, she means to say.

“I don’t want to take it off,” she actually says, much to her horror.

Sam’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses.

“You don’t-?” He clears his throat. “Because... it’s a nice sweater?”

“No,” she admits. “I mean, yes! Of course it’s a nice sweater! That isn’t what I meant, but it _ is _ a really nice sweater-”

“Ruth-”

“-it’s really warm and-”

“_Ruth_-”

“-it’s a nice color on you, you should-”

“Ruth! Shut the fuck up for a second.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re telling me you want to keep the sweater?”

“Yes.”

“But not just because you’re cold?”

“Yes.

“Because…?”

She’s at a complete loss for how to say it, and Sam sighs, rolling his eyes in what she’s begun to recognize as fond exasperation.

“I’m going to need you to use your words here, Ruth.

She kisses him instead, which seems to get her point across just fine. It’s possible putting on the sweater was worth all the trouble after all. 

(She never does give it back to him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt via anon: "wearing the other's clothes"
> 
> askbox is still open for prompts should you be so inclined


End file.
